Pushed Too Far
by imaginationoverload97
Summary: Missing scene after "Victory of the Daleks". I thought the Doctor recovered a bit too quickly at the end. Also an excuse for shameless Doctor whump.


**Disclaimer: I do not, nor do I claim to, own any part of Doctor Who.**

The Doctor was a bit upset after he declared the Daleks had won, but he seemed to have gotten over it fairly quickly. The key word in that sentence being _seemed_. He held it together while he finished up around the place, but after he and Amy had headed off in the TARDIS was different story. He dropped Amy off at a fancy hotel on New Earth for some sleep, she had been through a lot. She hadn't protested much, which told him that she was, in fact, tired. That was good. He wasn't sure he could hold it in much longer.

As soon as he had gotten the TARDIS back into the vortex, the whole wave of emotion broke loose. Interestingly enough, the main emotion wasn't fear, it was grief. Grief and guilt for all those that the Daleks had taken from him, those that he had failed to save. Most recently, Rose Tyler. But, just as painful, Gallifrey, and the Time Lords. His entire race, along with his home planet and everything they had built. He had wanted to make things right. It wasn't right that the Daleks kept coming back, not when he had lost so much at their hands. His previous self had put it rather nicely. _"They survived. They always survive, while I lose everything."_ As he sat at the top of steps his whole body shook with the violence of his sobs. He just couldn't seem to stop. This was much more than just the Daleks winning. This was about everyone he had lost and the guilt that consumed him even now for destroying his entire race.

As time passed, he began to realize that his body was radiating heat; he must be crying himself sick. He didn't know how far he could push this new body, not like that. Although, with each regeneration he seemed to be finding out earlier and earlier. He knew he should probably stop, force it all back in, but it was too late now. The flood would not be stemmed. His body vibrated with the force of his sorrow, though the tears had long since run dry. He could feel himself shivering in spite of the heat waves that continued to roll off of him. This really wasn't good. Suddenly, all thought was driven from his mind as his already sore stomach muscles violently contracted, spilling the contents of his stomach onto the floor. While his emotions seemed to have been successfully, though abruptly, put in check, at least for the moment, he now had the rather serious problem of being violently ill and too tired to do more than lean against the handrail next to him. He wasn't even sure how long he had been here. After a few more minutes, the Doctor slipped into a fitful sleep.

He woke up who knows how much later. The next order of business, he decided, was to get out of the console room. To do this, though, he would have to be able to get up and travel down the halls of the TARDIS to a room. This was easier said than done. The first step would be to take an inventory of how he was feeling. Head: throbbing. Stomach: unsteady. Breathing: erratic. Temperature: High. Strength: Almost non-existent. Well, this was just brilliant. However, he knew he needed to get out of here before he passed out again. This thought fueled him, and he started to stand up. As soon as he moved, stars exploded across his vision, throwing him off balance. Fortunately, he wasn't that far from the floor to begin with. Once they had faded, he tried again, this time more slowly, desperately trying to keep his stomach from emptying itself again. Once he was sitting, he rested for a moment before attempting to stand. As he did so, the world tipped alarmingly, but he managed to find the wall before collapsing to the floor again. Once the world steadied, he started to walk, leaning heavily on the wall. Just one foot in front of the other. Slowly. Once step at a time. Finally, once his legs felt like lead and his stomach had started flip-flopping again, he found himself outside a bedroom door. Silently thanking the TARDIS for bringing one closer, he pushed it open and went inside. After another trying ordeal, he made it to the bed, collapsed onto it, and promptly passed out. The Doctor was vaguely aware of puking multiple times over the next few hours, too weak to even lean over the side of the bed. He simply threw up, then went back to sleep, too exhausted to care.

When he came to, what must have been at least a day later, and discovered that the bed was covered in his own vomit, he decided that staying here might not be the most hygienic thing to do. He really was feeling much better, so he decided to go back down to the console room. As he sat up, he felt a light dizziness, but that was to be expected after what had just happened. Standing carefully, he made his way slowly but steadily to the door. Once he was there, he leaned against it, wishing that he didn't have to be so very _tired_. He'd just slept for a whole day! When he deemed himself ready, he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. Unfortunately, about half-way to the console room, the floor lurched beneath him, and he found himself laying on the floor again, trying to figure out what would cause the ship to do such a thing. Something felt distinctly wrong, but he couldn't put his finger on what. He looked up, and found the med-bay door right in front of him, although he _knew_ that there hadn't been a door there before. Okay. So maybe it wasn't the ship that had lurched, and maybe he wasn't as recovered as he had thought. On just about any other occasion, he would have by-passed the med-bay door, but right now he was just too exhausted to care. He crawled over, and the door swung open gently. Once inside, he managed to make his way to the closest bed, which also happened to be the scanning table. Right before he passed out again, he whispered, "Activate full body scan for Time Lord." Then everything went black.

An annoying, continuous beeping awoke him. As he slowly slid his eyes open, he realized it was the scanner indicating that the body scan was complete. Lacking the energy and the desire to sit up, he was beginning to feel queasy again, he simply said, "Put results on audio," and listened.

"Results on full body scan for Time Lord: body temperature six degrees higher than normal, seventy percent dehydrated, extreme exhaustion, severe nausea…" the Doctor groaned in agreement with that, "… and failure of right heart. Immediate action necessary to prevent possibly fatal conditions." The Doctor realized that he had, indeed, pushed his body too far. It probably didn't help that the only things he'd eaten since his regeneration were those fish fingers and custard at Amelia's house. And now, it seemed that even that was gone. _Stupid._ He thought. _Regeneration takes a lot of energy, and you didn't even bother to keep up enough for regular circumstances. _Now, he had to act quickly. The problem was, he wasn't sure he would be able to act at all, needless to say quickly. Still he had to try, for Amy. The thought of the fiery ginger, the first face this face saw, gave him the determination and the adrenaline to spring into action. First thing's first, he needed to restart his heart, NOW. Looking around the room, he located a defillibrator. Moving as fast as his complaining body would allow, he went over to it, turned it on, and placed both shockers on the right side of his chest and yelled, "CLEAR!" He knew there was nobody there to hear him, and that it really was very pointless, but he did it anyway. As soon as they made contact, he fell gasping to the floor. That many volts of electricity was never meant to be experienced consciously. Nevertheless, he managed to keep them on his chest for the few more vital seconds. As he lay on the floor, he felt both of his hearts thumping in his chest and sighed. This would have to do for now. He surrendered to unconsciousness once more.

When he came to again, it was to the feeling of contracting stomach muscles. There was nothing on his stomach, so it was just dry heaves. However, they were just as painful as before. The Doctor was certain that before this was over he was going to pull his stomach muscles, even though until this moment he hadn't thought it was possible to pull your stomach muscles. Once he stopped convulsing, the next thing he registered was how abnormally _hot_ it was. Looking over at the screen, which still displayed the body scan results, he focused on the first thing on the list. That's right, he had a fever, and, judging from the reading, a fairly high one at that. Frankly, he was surprised he came to at all with that high a temperature. Guess there was a use for puking after all. He knew he had to get his temperature down, but the fever was impeding his sense of urgency. Why couldn't he just lie back down and go to sleep…

_Amelia._ The single word was barely whispered in his mind, but that was all that was necessary. The Doctor's eyes popped back open, and he struggled up into a sitting position. He _had_ to get his temperature down, and fast. He could feel his mind drifting towards unconsciousness, and he knew he couldn't hold it off indefinitely. What was he trying to do? Oh yes, reduce the fever. It wasn't helping that such an abnormally high temperature made it hard enough to concentrate on one thing, needless to say try to stay conscious while doing something else. Finally, an idea pushed its way through the fog surrounding his brain. "Lower temperature in med-bay to…" _What was safe? Who knows how long I'll be out this time. It has to be low enough to cool me down, but not freeze me before I wake up._ "…four degrees Celsius." He thought Celsius was the default setting, but best to make sure. Now, he needed to get up off the floor. Focusing his rapidly draining supply of will power, the Doctor managed to get to his feet, all of his core muscles screaming in protest. Standing there, swaying, he focused his sights on the bed in the corner closest to him. Unsteadily, he made his way over to it, just in time, his knees giving out as he collapsed onto the bed. Suddenly, the whole room felt entirely too _cold_. He considered changing the temperature, but he was losing the battle with the darkness at the edges of his vision too quickly to get his voice to work. A few more seconds, and he was no longer aware of the temperature, hot or cold.

Coming to this time was a much more gradual process. The Doctor couldn't really put a finger on when he became aware of his surroundings, but it was some time after that before he opened his eyes. The first thing that he realized was that he was wrapped up very tightly in his blanket. As recollection hit him, he stopped just before raising the temperature. First he had to ascertain if he still had a fever, although the clearness in his head gave him reason to believe that if it wasn't completely gone, it was very low-grade. Wrapping his blanket around him, he shuffled over to the scanning table and sat down. "Scan body temperature for Time Lord." The results came back seconds later. "Body temperature results for Time Lord: one degree higher than normal." Just as he suspected. Without wasting any time, he called, "Raise med-bay temperature to twenty-five degrees Celsius." Once he was relatively warmer, he called the full body scan results back up on the screen. He had taken care of his heart failure and his fever. Next was… ah. Extreme dehydration. Now that he thought about it, he was very thirsty. Going over to the sink, he got himself a cup of water. Just as he was about to drain it, he remembered his stomach. It would be dangerous enough to gulp down the water to a normally dehydrated person, but if said person also happened to be prone to puking even when there was nothing there to begin with, that would be an exceptionally bad idea. So, he made himself just sip the water, after finding a tray to puke in and sitting on the bed, just in case. Sure enough, not two minutes after his first sip, it all came right back up. While he heaved only a couple times, the pain was excruciating to his stomach muscles, so he lay on the bed curled up in a ball for a good fifteen minutes before he had recovered sufficiently to sit back up. Even that hurt a little bit, but he was tired of laying on his back, so sitting it was. He did prop himself up on the headboard, which made it a little better.

Now, what to do? He had to get some fluid in his system, dehydration was dangerous. However, it was difficult to do when his stomach was rejecting everything. Oh well, the only other option was an IV, although it certainly wasn't a pleasant prospect. Groaning, he got up and found, after a lot of rummaging and searching, an old IV rack and the bag that was supposed to fit on it. Filling the bag with water, he set the whole contraption up next the corner bed and climbed back into it, exhausted. _Last step_, he thought to himself and plunged to needle into the vein in his arm. Now all he had to do was wait. While he was doing so, he leaned his head back until it was resting on the headboard. Almost without realizing it, he drifted off into sleep.

This time when he woke up, it was completely natural. No pain, beeping, cold, or, heaven forbid, puking. Looking over at the IV, he saw that the whole bag was empty. That was good. This time it seemed the exhaustion was taken care of as well. Looking over at the scanner, he realized the only thing that hadn't been taken care of was the nausea. Unfortunately, even Time Lords just had to wait that sort of thing out. Since it seemed to have subsided for now, the Doctor decided to go pick up Amy. He didn't want to scare her, so he would just say that it was a minor stomach bug. He was pretty sure that it wasn't contagious to humans, but just to make sure, "Is this illness contagious to human beings."

"Negative."

Good. That was taken care of. As he headed to the console room, the Doctor decided to pick up Amy twelve hours after he left her. That was the recommended sleep time for humans, right? Anyway, for once the TARDIS took him exactly where he wanted to go, and he landed right outside the hotel, twelve hours after he had left. Going in with a wave of the physic paper, he went up to Amy's room and let himself in. Going over to the bed, he gently woke the ginger up. "Come on, Amy. Time for more adventures!" he whispered excitedly.

"Doctor? Is that you?"

"Yes, it's me! Come on, up you get. Adventures aren't going to have themselves, you know."

"Alright, give me fifteen minutes and I'll meet you downstairs," said Amy, still snuggled down under the blankets.

"Alright, Pond, but you'd better not keep me waiting."


End file.
